FW: 1941 Boxing Day, M-rated Chapter 5
by Wolseley37
Summary: An unexpected visitor Christmas Eve changes Foyle's otherwise quiet holiday plans, and perhaps his future as well.


**A/N:** For GiuliettaC, and anyone else who likes this sort of thing... ;o)

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In the bedroom with her he found it was rather the way he remembered his wedding night, except that, now, he was less nervous. Though trembling, she allowed him to begin to undress her, but as he sensed her increasing discomfort he stopped, kissed her, and invited her into his bed. They finished undressing with their backs to each other.

Lying on his side under the covers, he folded an arm below his head and held her fingers to his lips,

"Nothing will happen that you haven't consented to; nothing I would _do_, nothing I would _care_ to do, without your agreement…" He touched her cheek, gently turning her face towards him,

"…and that works both ways, you know?"

That made her smile a little; he could hardly believe how shy she was with him, thinking back to her aggressive attitude when they'd first met. More than anything he meant to earn her trust now.

He proceeded cautiously, slowly, seeking and ensuring he had her approval, waiting for her eyes to meet his, listening to the tenor of her sighs. The process was deliciously tantalizing, discovering this unfamiliar, lovely body.

But when his sensitive fingers felt what he knew must be scar tissue across her back, he remembered the rhyme she'd recited in the woods last April -_ 'the woman, the dog and the chestnut tree, the more you beat them...'_ He checked himself from showing a reaction; it was not the time to acknowledge the full extent of the abuse she had suffered.

This would be just for the two of them.

For a while she lay passively, but soon began to trust that his caresses were for her pleasure more than his own. He explored the little hollow at the centre of her collarbone with his tongue, kissed a path down her breasts and suckled softly at the rosy peaks. His fingers gently played over her rising and falling ribcage, to her navel, and he longed to venture down past her belly, to touch, he imagined, her golden curls - still chastely hidden under the sheet - _oh, god_, to taste her there. But he sensed her nervousness.

Little by little she progressed from merely accepting his touch to responding to it, breathing deeply with the pleasure he gave her, guiding his hand to a sensitive curve. Then she began tentatively exploring his body, stroking his chest, his shoulders and back, glancing up at his face for reassurance, her confidence growing with her new faith in his gentle nature. But he was acutely aware that she avoided touching the most intimate part of him, though it pressed insistently against her belly, thigh or hip, unseen below the sheet..

As he began to feel almost overly light-headed he asked,

"Shall we… go on, my love…?"

She looked into his eyes and said in an incredulous whisper,

"But you – you're – you can't just stop, can you?"

He smiled,

"Course I can stop. _We_ can stop. Or simply continue this, if you prefer…"

Propped on an elbow, he leaned his head back and took in a long breath, then exhaled with an air of satisfaction,

"Certainly made a good start…"

She looked at him askance, saw he was making a jest, and laughed softly.

"I am a lot of bother, aren't I?"

He smiled, cupped her exquisitely high cheek in his hand, and trailed soft kisses down her brow and nose,

"You're wonderful…"

Her hazel eyes turned to him with such adoring gratitude that he had to look away; he muttered,

"…worth all the trouble, really."

She took in this remark with such an earnest expression that he couldn't suppress a crooked smile; with a cry of mild outrage she jabbed him playfully in the ribs.

They tussled gently, laughing until their embraces and kisses grew more determined and purposeful; she rolled him on top of her and stroked his back with an encouraging murmur, but he stopped to ask again,

"You're sure, love…?"

Her answer was to draw his head down and bring her mouth up to his in an eager probing kiss. She ran her foot up the length of his calf to allow him between her thighs and breathed,

"Yes… I'm sure."

He began to press himself against her, teasing her with a slow rocking motion so that she grew even more aroused. Her hand reached for him, and he raised one hip to allow her fingers to measure the length and girth of him, exciting him until he feared he was too rigid, that he might hurt her – but she guided him and pivoted her hips invitingly. He pushed gently, slipped just inside her, his brain reeling with desire, but paused, breathlessly watching her face.

Her eyes had closed, with a little apprehensive crease between her brows. He nudged against her cheek, whispering her name until she opened her eyes, and when she returned a tremulous smile he pushed in a little further, taking a sharply indrawn breath through his teeth, holding himself back.

She gasped with pleasure, then gave a low insistent coo and, with her eyes fixed on his, pressed her hands on his lower back and, tilting her hips to meet him, pulled him all the way down inside her. They cried out in ecstasy. He pulled back half his length, then pushed in again slowly, and she moaned,

"_Oh, my god, yes!_"

Soon they found an exquisitely slow and perfectly-matched rhythm together, which gradually increased in urgency until, by an unspoken communication and a sure instinctive coordination, they reached an overwhelming mutual crescendo.

He drew her over with him to collapse together on their sides, convulsively pressing into each other as the waves of pleasure subsided.

He lay stupefied until he felt the soft touch of her nose against his, opened his eyes to see her smiling and weeping at once, like rain on a bright spring day. He kissed her, let his fingers play through her hair, and breathed,

"Thank-you…"

Then realised she had spoken the same word at the same moment, and they smiled at each other.

Some time later Foyle awoke to the blissful sensation of a warm, soft body spooning against him, his arms around silky flesh and his feet entangled with hers. He listened to her quiet breathing, kissed her shoulder, and his eyes wandered down over the supple form and curve of her back. He studied the simple constellations of freckles and moles, and noted with profound dismay the pale, long shallow depressions and pockmarks left years ago by the lash and buckle of a leather belt. Moving in closer to her, he delicately traced the contour of her cheek with his fingers.

When she woke they made love again, and then lay together talking.

"Christopher, how many lovers have you had?"

"Rather personal question…" He paused, grinned, and then answered,

"Let me see: there was Caroline, we met when I was injured in the last war. There was Rosalind, and… then there was… you. That makes, _er_, three, if I haven't miscounted."

"Only three!" She watched his face as she took this in.

"There _was_ a girl, a young lady… before I volunteered in the First War. I'd… asked her to marry me. She accepted; her father refused permission. We were never lovers."

"But you loved her."

"I did, yes."

"Was that… the reason you volunteered?"

"Mmmight've had something to do with it."

"Three. But – not even in France? You were a soldier."

"Well..., there was a brief…_ liaison_… Actually, she was Polish…"

"That makes four."

"Including you."

"And no one since Rosalind…?"

"No."

"Then, why m–?"

He cut off her question,

"No-no: your turn; how many? Get out the list."

"A gentleman shouldn't ask a lady such a question."

He tilted his head and waited.

"Well, my husband, of course, though we weren't exactly married the first time… and, quite soon after he died, there was this friend of his, a man from his office, I'm afraid; he kept coming round to the house, being helpful, and, with the state I was in, one thing led to another; I think he rather took advantage of it, actually. I realised it was a mistake straight away; I needed time alone, time to work out who I was – or who I could be… So, I sold the house, we moved away... Since then… no one."

"Not that men haven't tried…"

"Well, yes, but, I thought I was happy on my own, with my son. I _was_ happy. I saw him through school, and then… he joined up."

Barbara closed her eyes tight for a moment, then, putting that pain aside, she heaved a sigh,

"I suppose I blamed men for everything after that – the war, killing, brutality, violence – I blamed every man that looked at me."

"_Mmm_, I still bear the marks…" He said, rubbing his cheek as if it had been slapped; then he kissed her forehead.

"Why _me_, Christopher?"

"N-no, that's… not the right question."

He repositioned the pillow against the headboard and looked into her eyes,

"'Why… _us_?' Perhaps… I fell _instantly_ in love with you, without knowing it. I do know I was very deeply intrigued. Before I could act on my feelings, you were gone; seemed to be nothing I could do about it. Even a policeman _as lofty as myself_ can't go asking for classified information on the movements of war workers."

She closed her eyes in self-reproach and he caressed the blonde locks curling over her ear.

"I thought about you, wondered where you were, but… seemed a hopeless case. I had no reason to believe you thought of me… Then you turned up on my doorstep."

He leaned over to kiss her, then settled onto his back, pulling her nearer.

"Now. You give the other half of the answer."

She looked thoughtful for a few moments.

"Well, I _wasn't_ certain I had fallen in love with you, but I knew I wanted to see you again – you'd had a strong effect on me. You somehow had made me see things clearly for the first time in a long time – since Dunkirk. I felt more _myself_… even after I'd been moved on; I was more at peace. You were constantly in my thoughts, but I couldn't get back –. Then I got notice of my leave and… all I could think of was coming here, coming to find you. Crazy, hmm? I mean, you might have been out of town; you might have had a house full of visitors, but–."

She appealed to him for understanding.

"But I hadn't."

He smiled,

"Have we answered the question?"

Moving closer, she stretched an arm across his middle and closed her eyes happily,

"Yes, I think we have…"

(Rest of the chapter is back at the main story entry rated K+)


End file.
